


All is Well, Night Vale

by RonnaWren (Wolf_of_Lilacs)



Category: Political RPF - US 21st c., Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Don't Take This Too Seriously, Gen, Probably Crack, i was bored
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-06
Updated: 2017-04-06
Packaged: 2018-10-15 09:25:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10553962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wolf_of_Lilacs/pseuds/RonnaWren
Summary: A mysterious town appears on voting records, and Hillary's team goes to investigate. Perhaps they shouldn't have done that...(This was supposed to be horror, but really isn't.)





	

**Author's Note:**

> I've only gotten through the first 12 episodes of the podcast and haven't read the novel, so forgive me for any inaccuracies.

BROOKLYN

"Good morning, Robbie," Hillary said, sitting behind her desk at the Brooklyn campaign office, sipping a coffee.

"Good morning, Mrs. Clinton." Robbie placed a file in front of her. "We just got word the Trump campaign's making one last gambit at some obscure town in a western state."

"Okay. They do stupid things. Why should this concern us?" she asked, massaging her forehead.

"I'm coming to that. The thing with this town? We can't find any residents in the state's voter file, almost like it doesn't exist. How the Trump campaign came across it—and why they've deemed it important—I have no idea."

"Um, do we have time to look into it?"

Robbie laughed. "GOTV's coming along nicely. I think we could spare a few hours."

If Robbie had been a bit more aware of the world around him, he wouldn't have mentioned Night Vale at all...

SOMEWHERE IN AMERICA

"Night Vale—minus residents—has appeared on voting records. Why?" The question was posed by one nondescript individual to another who was equally forgettable.

"The campaign needed some excitement."

"There wasn't enough already?"

"It isn't that. More like, show them the power of the government they seek to lead."

"Ah, so Night Vale may intimidate them, when they understand what it means."

"Exactly, partner mine. Now, let's sit back and enjoy the show."

NIGHT VALE, [REDACTED], USA

Night Vale, the town that didn't exist, appeared perfectly innocuous at first glance. Admittedly, there were a few more abandoned buildings than in other towns, and the residents walked about—if they went out at all—with heads bowed and eyes downcast, as if trying to avoid notice. But other than those caveats, Night Vale was just another small American town, the sort of place the GOP won consistently. Thus, the question persisted: Why had Trump made it a point to campaign here?

"Let's go see the Mayor, see if we can get her to campaign with us," Robbie suggested as they observed the strange sight of a group of people in apparent quarantine near a park.

"Probably our best bet," Hillary agreed.

The Mayor's office was heavily guarded by members of the Sheriff's Secret Police, who glared at Hillary and her campaign team suspiciously as they approached. "Ah, we're here to see the Mayor," Robbie said.

"Do you have an appointment?"

"She'll see us. I'm running for President," Hillary replied.

"Send 'em in, boys," a woman's voice called through the door. "I want to hear what they have to say."

The sentinels appeared dubious, but allowed Hillary and her team to pass.

"You're running for President, h'm?" the Mayor, a pale-faced woman with medium brown hair, growled.

"Indeed. We were wanting to know... Will you campaign with us, so the citizens have someone they trust helping to spread our message?"

The Mayor laughed outright. "No. The people know only what they need to, and I do not talk to them more than is absolutely necessary. If you want to campaign here, then fine. But you won't be getting any help from me."

"But—" Hillary protested.

"Please leave my office. The City Council hasn't approved your presence, and I do not care at all for what you're doing here."

"But we can campaign?" the state's field director confirmed.

"Yes, yes. Do that. Now, get out! Oh, and take this helpful 'Welcome to Night Vale' pamphlet.""

And so they left the Mayor's office, pamphlet in hand, and continued their tour of the town. Really, there was little unusual here—though there were... noises... or a sound coming from a deserted dog park, as well as other things yet more inexplicable, things for which Hillary had no name.

The pamphlet helped not a whit, except that it was sponsored by the NSA, National Weather Service, and several large corporations.

"Hi, I'm Hillary Clinton. Have you ever voted before?" Hillary said to an old woman meandering past the small booth they'd set up for their selection of campaign paraphernalia.

"City Council hasn't made me vote in years, lady," the old woman mumbled, slowing and turning to more closely examine the booth. "I'm Josie, by the way. Are you new here? You look new. Also I don't recognize you, and neither do the angels."

Hillary was stunned. Made her vote? And this woman didn't recognize her, one of the best-known political figures in the country? What was going on in this town?

"When you have voted," Hillary began, "did you vote for President?"

"Don't think I did," Josie replied. "Why? That what you're running for? President of what?"

"Good god! Of the United States, the country of which this town is a part!"

"Oh, that," Josie chortled. "Good luck getting the City Council on your side. They don't think such things are important, so neither do we."

While Hillary and Josie conversed, a small crowd formed about them. The people watched Hillary in polite curiosity, as if trying to place her within a category that did not yet exist in their lives.

"Don't you people know how, ah, oppressed you are?" Hillary asked, expanding her conversation to include all the people now in the square, her incredulity unmistakable. "Your  
mayor never gives press conferences;”—she ignored the sardonic snort from the state's field director—"when she does, she employs reverse psychology to exploit you. Your police are accountable to no one. Shady corporations come in here and take advantage of your state of mind. And what was that strange buzzing noise coming from the dog park I heard when I was touring this place? I felt willing to give my daughter to it, or maybe one of my grandchildren, whatever it was."

"She spoke of the dog park!" someone in the small crowd whispered, eyes wide.

"Dog park? There is no dog park!"

"How do you guys even put up with these weird-ass appearances anyway?" Trump shouted, entering the square from the opposite side, instantly drawing the crowd's attention away from Hillary. "Glow clouds? What even are those? And those dead animals they're dropping? Could be from Mexico! I will build a dome over this town so glow clouds won't hurt you anymore!"

His remarks were met with a hesitant smattering of applause. Josie grumbled, "You tell 'em, kiddo. Damn ... what were we talking about again?"

"The ways in which your government and corporations rule you!" Hillary replied quickly, hoping to keep the old woman's attention on her.

"Oh. Whatever, kiddo. I like the sound of the orange man with the interesting hair. You can keep your 'shady corporations' and whatnot." 

"Look, I'm proposing higher taxes on our wealthiest citizens, and a future all Americans can believe in," Hillary said, in a final attempt to turn the crowd away from Trump. It worked about as well as John Kasich's appeals to bipartisanship had, which is to say, hardly at all.

Josie, clearly fed up with her, edged closer to Trump, leaving Hillary in the midst of several stony-faced residents.

"Oh yeah," Trump continued, speaking over Hillary without effort, "and all these rigged elections? I mean, voting's bad in the rest of the country. But I've never seen anything like this! This is tremendous voter fraud! Who even votes?"

Hillary watched moodily from her place in the crowd, surprised at the relative ineffectiveness of his reliably inflammatory rhetoric. Definitely a problem here, if Trumpian demagoguery failed to get much of a reaction. "Why is no one cheering?" she whispered to one of the average citizens standing nearby.

"Why she we? He's just an interesting spectacle put on by the City Council. I'm sure he'll go the way of all interesting spectacles."

"Ah, okay..."

"Hillary!" Trump said, acknowledging her for the first time. "What are you doing here? Making sure they rig this town for you?" Darkly-clad members of the Sheriff's Secret Police made their way from the edge of the square, as if they had been birthed by shadows, and surrounded Trump. They attempted to handcuff him, and failed; he danced away from them with surprising dexterity, completely changing his diatribe's direction as he did so. "All Hale the Glow Cloud!" Trump shouted, glaring at his would-be accosters in supreme annoyance. "Go arrest someone that deserves it, boys. Like Hillary there, saying things no one should."

The Sheriff's Secret Police—apparently appeased—ignored him, and disappeared as silently as they came.

Meanwhile, the crowd echoed, "All Hale! All Hale!" at last with the enthusiasm Hillary expected.

The average citizen standing next to her —a dark-haired white woman—elbowed her impatiently. "Why aren't you praising the Glow Cloud?"

"Why should I? Why are you? What on earth is going on here?"

"Come on Hillary," Trump needled, glowering from his place at the front of the crowd. "Get with the times. This is my victory party. These are smart people here in Night Vale. They love me."

She did not hold back her skeptical snort. "I think they love their Glow Cloud and City Council more than you, Donald."

"We'll see, Crooked Hillary. I bet I'll win this town. And since I'll win here, I'll win everywhere, and then I'll be President." Trump turned and walked from the square, in the apparent direction of the City Council chambers. His entourage followed discreetly. Moments passed, during which the crowd began to disperse, and Trump failed to return.

"Where has Trump got to?" Robbie asked, his voice carrying eerily through the  
cricket-filled silence.

"He's found his true home here. I'm sure he's fine," the state's field director replied caustically. 

In reality, Trump had skipped town to continue campaigning elsewhere, after bribing the City Council into giving the people moderate protection from the predatory corporations and government agencies that had so terrified them. His recommendation for combatting the supernatural elements? Building an impenetrable dome over the entire town. The City Council rather liked the dome idea, and declared Trump a local hero.

*

_In today's news, Night Vale, individuals claiming to be presidential candidates came to town. This is the first time in living memory that such individuals have set foot here; they claim it is only to earn our votes, but doubts of their true motives remain._

_A notable proposition by one of these supposed candidates is to build a dome over our town, in order to protect against aerial supernatural phenomena. Carlos—he of the lustrous hair—warns that this dome may result in a drastic reduction of oxygen, which would subsequently lead to all our deaths._

_Do not fear, Night Vale. All is well. Presidential candidates cannot hurt you._

BROOKLYN

"Oh god," Hillary groaned, as she watched the increasingly dire election returns. "This is unexpected, and catastrophic."

The expressions of those in attendance at what should have been a victory party ranged from shocked to terrified to downright distraught.

"It is really unexpected, yeah," Robbie agreed, walking up next to where Hillary sat, cradling her head in her hand. "Do you need a drink?"

"Yes, please," Hillary said fervently.

"We did everything we could, didn't we?" she asked Robbie on his return, cringing at how vulnerable she sounded.

He shifted uncomfortably under her gaze. "Look, I don't want to do a proper autopsy right now. Let's just get through the rest of the evening. Though there is a stat you might find interesting."

"And what might that be?"

"You remember Night Vale, the governmental playground and center of the supernatural?"

"How could I forget it?"

Robbie laughed without any humor. "There was one vote cast in that entire shithole."

"And?"

"It was for Trump." Robbie reached out as if to comfort her; she glared, and he dropped his hand.

"Who voted?" she asked.

"What?"

"Which Night Vale resident voted? With only one, I'm certain you can easily figure out who it was."

"Oh, of course." Robbie checked his phone. "Josie."

Josie, the one person who carried on any semblance of a conversation with her. Sipping her champagne, Hillary said, "I have a new ambition, Robbie."

"What is it?"

"Making a life for myself in the woods. It seems like the best course."

Robbie blinked. "Well, don't think you can do much worse."

"Quite right. Now leave me. I need to brood."

SOMEWHERE IN AMERICA

"Your spiced-up campaign has turned into four sleepless years, asshole," complained the first nondescript individual.

"It isn't my fault the intimidation didn't take! We had nothing to do with the outcome, all right?"

"Fine. Whatever helps you sleep at night, partner mine."


End file.
